Acquisition
by Sarapsys
Summary: "Well aren't you a pair," April says when November returns carrying the newest addition to their team.


**Acquisition**

"Well aren't you a pair," April says when November returns carrying the newest addition to their team. It's part hilarious and part just really, really bizarre: the Doll could easily pass for a junior version of the agent, minus the arrogant smile. She pops the top of another beer can. "You don't happen have a long lost lovechild, by any chance?"

"I imagine that's part of why we got him," November replies. "They wanted to make sure the good-looking ones all got put together."

She can tell he's really pleased; he gets so very _smug _when he's pleased, and at the moment she can practically smell the smugness oozing out of his every pore. It's no surprise, of course. November has been badgering HQ to acquire them a Doll for over a year now, and now they've finally got one.

"A kid might be hard to explain on missions. But at least the resemblance will keep people from thinking we're kidnappers when we're undercover," April comments.

She's far from complaining. It's a miracle they were able to requisition one—even a team of their status, and even after waiting so long. Dolls are worth a fortune on the black market. Properly trained Dolls simply aren't as easy to get a hold of as they once were, even for MI6. And yeah, he's not much more than a toddler, which means a lot of making sure he's fed and not getting snatched and whatnot, but he's a Doll. Even if he were fully grown, they'd still have to keep an eye on him and protect him as though he were a child; she's never heard of a Doll doing much to fend for itself. And anyway, April hasn't worked much with Dolls, but she has a notion that perhaps they're like dogs or horses, and might be easier to train from this age. So really, this is a pretty good acquisition.

"Yes," November agrees. "He's called July."

"July, eh?" Lazily April gets up from the couch, setting her now empty beer can on the table and coming over for a closer inspection. From across the room the Doll appeared to be asleep, his little blond head on November's shoulder and arms hanging bonelessly at his sides. His grey eyes are half open, however, staring past her with a non-expression of disinterest.

"That's right. Because he's our little ray of sunshine, aren't you, July?" November says, smirking.

The smugness is really almost unbearable, even though it's not directed against her.

The last time April saw her partner this thrilled was when they were assigned that new, ridiculously overpowered sports car. Then, it seemed his pants might fuse to the leather of the driver's seat and he was constantly revving the engine and messing around with the dashboard electronics, just because he could. Now is no different. He seems loathe to put the Doll down, instead standing in the middle of the hotel suite with that smirk on his face and looking for all the world like a proud father holding his tiny son—though nothing could be farther from the truth. A ruthless assassin and his shiny new state-of-the-art surveillance system…how sweet. It's almost funny.

"Look, watch this," November says, sauntering over to the window. "July, how far are we from HQ?"

Face unchanging, the Doll moves for the first time, sitting up in the agent's arms and putting his tiny hand out to touch the glass pane. "Two point three one seven kilometers," he murmurs, after barely a moment's consideration. "Twenty degrees to the southeast."

"Very useful," April says, starting to feel rather smug and self-satisfied herself. No wonder November is so pleased—July really is just as good as a new car. Comes with GPS and everything.

It's another half hour before November finally puts the Doll down on the couch, but even then he only pauses in testing out July's abilities long enough to order him a glass of milk from room service. By this point April has lost her interest in playing with the new gadget.

"You should put him to bed," she says. Room service brought her up another bottle of whiskey along with July's milk. She pours herself a third healthy glass of it.

"To bed? It's not even midnight," November says offhandedly. "Can you read, July? What's the nearest street sign to that location say?"

The Doll's eyes are still half-lidded and empty, but he's starting to almost meet the Contractor's whenever the man asks him a question. His little fingers press to the sides of his milk glass. "Sloane."

"Even better than I thought," November says cheerfully, and April points out, "We'll be starting first thing in the morning, and we'll have a lot of work to do. Little kids are weak. They get tired easily."

She remembers that, vaguely, like a paper fact that she learned in some class years and years ago and hasn't needed to recall until now.

"He's not a kid, he's a Doll," he protests. "July, you're not tired, are you?"

July gazes back at him silently. Apparently responding to that sort of question is not in his programming.

"You can test his stamina when we don't have a job to do. Having a Doll won't do us any good if he falls asleep in the middle of it," April says.

"You're no fun at all," November accuses lightly.

"We'll have fun tomorrow. July," she says, not positive this will work and thinking the Doll should have come with a manual, "go to sleep."

Immediately, the tiny boy curls up on his side beside her on the couch and closes his eyes.

"See?"

"He's programmed to do what he's told," says November, looking slightly put out. "That doesn't mean he was tired."

"Either way, it's not important." April scoops her arms under the sleeping Doll's knees and shoulders. He's heavier than he looks, but not too heavy to carry.

"Isn't that touching," November comments, dropping onto the couch and helping himself to what's left of the whiskey. "Just look at that nurturing motherly instinct."

April has been working with the other Contractor long enough to recognize that's his lame idea of a joke. Scoffing a little, she says over her shoulder as she heads to the spare bedroom to deposit July into bed, "You had better call room service to restock the minibar if you're going to drink the rest of that."

"Do it yourself. I think I deserve one drink, after all the strings I had to pull to get that Doll assigned to us," the other agent calls back.

Maybe so, but April would rather have another drink than acknowledge that just to stroke her partner's ego. As if he needs that right now. And anyway, he's a lightweight, and she really doesn't need to deal with him hungover tomorrow on the job. Settling the Doll onto the bed, she tilts her head a moment in consideration. It seems warm enough in the suite to her and they don't exactly keep kiddie pajamas on hand just in case, so April just leaves him on top of the covers fully dressed. On second thought, though, she pauses long enough to take his shoes off before heading back to reclaim her bottle from November.


End file.
